The Days of Courtship
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: A Jim&Artie-less story, following on after TNOT Unexpected Visit and setting up some complications for future stories that Artie in particular will find very unwelcome indeed, as one OC introduced in the story just mentioned makes it his business to pursue another OC from that same story.
1. The Days of the Teehaus, Part One

_Author's Notes:_

_This is two stories, actually. They started out as a bit of backstory (written mostly for my own entertainment), but further plotting in the story arc that began with TNOT Unexpected Visit has led me to believe that it might be a good idea for the readers to know what a certain character has been up to when Uncle Artie's out of town…_

**The Days of the **_**Teehaus,**_** Part One**

It was her half-day. Her daughter had fallen asleep for a nap and her students, the three Morgan girls, had eagerly begged for the chance to watch over little Missie if the toddler awakened before Mrs Sparrow returned. And so Denise Sparrow had gone out for an afternoon's shopping.

Not that her heart was in it. She roamed from one store to the next desultorily, glancing at this thing and that, buying nothing. Books normally were a passion for her; now they stirred her not at all. Dresses — she lingered at the window of a dressmaker's shop, not really seeing the lovely fabrics, but remembering instead a certain day a lifetime ago when she had stood before such a window in Chicago, leaning on Craig's arm. Craig, her husband, newly minted as a full lawyer, had laughed at the longing in her eyes as she gazed in that window and told her to go in and choose the prettiest fabric they had; of course he would buy her a new dress!

She still had that dress, but it was packed away, as were all her pretty dresses. She had brought them with her when she and her daughter had moved here to Georgetown recently, but she still couldn't bring herself to wear them. Three years on, and she still wore her widow's weeds as a sign that she was still in mourning, though not deep mourning anymore. Craig. She adored him still — she always would — and so she still dressed in mourning in his memory. How, she wondered now and again, would she ever find another to match him? A man as interesting, as fascinating — someone who was even a shadow of Craig Sparrow?

And then there was Missie, her dear dead husband's child, born six months after the accident that had taken him from her. Was there a man out there who would be willing to take on the responsibility of raising Missie? Someone who would love her as if she were his own?

She felt her eyes filling and steered her thoughts away. This is nothing but me feeling sorry for myself, she thought severely. I'll have none of that!

If only… If only Uncle Artie were here. He had such a knack for cheering her up, her wonderful uncle who was really her cousin. But he and his partner James West were absent from Washington for now, off on their train the Wanderer, doing their work, righting the wrongs, catching the bad guys — having lives. And she, she was merely a governess, ensconced in the Morgans' home teaching their children while raising her fatherless child, alone.

"_Guten Tag_, my dear," came a voice, soft and amiable, creaky with age, speaking from close behind her. Someone is talking to me? she wondered as she turned.

She saw an old man, grey-haired, smiling. A neatly-trimmed goatee and moustaches framed the smile, a long-healed scar tracing a line down his left cheek. The warm and almost youthful sparkle in his eye belied the age that stooped his shoulders. His smile spread even wider as he said, "_Ach ja! Fräulein _Niecie, is it not? You remember me, hmm?"

Remember! As if she could ever forget! The horrible sensation of falling, falling, with the certainty that the end of the fall would be the end of her. The terrible scene replayed itself in her head: how the air had whistled in her ears — how she had thought only of, What will become of Missie? — how she had closed her eyes, not wanting to see the ground rushing up at her…

And then had come the sudden THUD as something smacked into her from the wrong direction, from the side, sending her rolling, tumbling along a grassy verge until she came to rest at last. And her rescuer — who…?

She remembered the groan from close at hand, and remembered swiveling her still-spinning head to see an old man — _this _old man — gingerly levering himself up into a sitting position and muttering, "_Ach mein Himmel!_" to himself before turning to her and exclaiming, "___Fräulein_! You are all right?"

She blinked, pulling herself out of the remembrance — is there such a thing as a day-mare? — to find a gentle but firm hand was supporting her elbow, and that same paper-thin voice was saying the very same thing to her: "_____Fräulein_! You are all right?"

"I… I… Yes, I'm all right," she assured him, though in fact feeling a bit shaky still.

"_Ach_, I am glad. You gave me a bit of a turn just now, my dear," said the old man. "But you do remember me, hmm?"

"Oh, yes indeed! You saved my life, ah…" She dredged her memory for the name. "Umm… Fri… Fritzi, wasn't it?"

He nodded, beaming. "_Ach ja! Sehr gut _— very good. Fritzi Drossel, from Düsseldorf. But I did not quite catch your name, my dear. Your uncle called you Niecie, I believe?"

"Denise Sparrow," she responded. "_Mrs _Sparrow."

"_Ach_, I was mistaken. Not ___Fräulein_ but _Frau_, hmm?" He looked her over, taking in the widow's weeds and the lack of a ring on her finger. His eyes softened as he gently took her hand in both of his, patting it consolingly. "_Mein aufrichtiges Beileid_, my dear. Which is to say, my most sincere condolences. I know what it is."

He was widowed as well? Oh but at his age, that was very likely so.

"_So junge _— so young," he was saying. And suddenly his kindly regard, his compassion — his empathy — quite overwhelmed her and she began to cry.

"_Ach_, my apologies, my dear!" he said and quickly produced a very large, very red bandanna from his pocket, offering it to her. She declined, pulling a handkerchief trimmed in black lace from the cuff of her sleeve and putting it to good use. "I am so sorry," Fritzi Drossel went on. "I did not mean to make you cry, my dear." He paused, thinking, then said, "Let us find a place where you may sit down, hmm?" And laying a hand gently on the small of her back, he steered her down the street to a colorful little shop with the word "_Teehaus_" painted in an arch of Gothic lettering on the window. He brought her inside, calling a friendly "_Guten Tag!_" to the waitress who then placed them at a table for two in the window. And as they waited for their tea, he began to talk.

And what a talker he was! He regaled her with tales of life back in the Old Country, and eventually, as the tears gave way to laughter, she opened up and told him about her childhood back in Chicago — and of course that included the story of how her older cousin Artemus Gordon had become her Uncle Artie. They wound up having a wonderful time together, drinking tea and chattering on and on about whatever came to mind. By the time the afternoon had flown and evening was drawing on, Denise felt as if she had known Fritzi forever.

Abruptly she realized the light was fading outside. She glanced at the locket watch pinned to her bodice and exclaimed at how late it was. "Oh, I must be getting home now!"

She rose, as did Fritzi. He paid for their tea, then offered Denise his arm. After a moment's hesitation she took it. He escorted her outside, then back up the street to the spot in front of the dressmaker's window where he had found her.

He smiled at her, taking her hand in his and patting it. "I had a lovely afternoon, my dear _Frau Spatz_," said he with a twinkle in his eye.

Puzzled, she asked, "Excuse me, what did you say? Frow Shpots?"

He chuckled. "_Ach_, that was a small whimsy of mine. '_Spatz_,' you see, means 'sparrow.' _Und _'_Drossel_' as well is a type of bird — a thrush, a little singing bird. I, ah…" he added with a modest shrug, "I am rather fond of birds."

"_Frau Spatz_," she repeated dubiously.

"_Ja_. A mere whimsy. You will permit?" He gave her a big-eyed look that reminded her of her Uncle Artie's puppy-dog eyes.

Which always worked…

She couldn't help smiling. "All right. Yes, I will permit."

"_Wunderbar!_" said he. Still in possession of her hand, he patted it once more and added, "Now, my dear _Frau Spatz_, when may we have tea together again, hmm?"

She smiled. The wily old dear! Not "May we" but "_When _may we"! "Well," she replied, "this is my weekly half-day off."

"Mmm! A week from today then? You will meet me at the _Teehaus?_"

So eager! The sweet old man — he was likely just as lonely as she was. With a nod, she said, "Yes. Yes, I would enjoy that." And she meant it.

His smile broadened. "_Und _may I see you home now?"

To this she shook her head. "No thank you. It's kind of you to offer, _Herr _Drossel…"

"Fritzi, my dear," he interjected.

"…Fritzi. But it's not that far. I'll be perfectly fine."

"_Ach_. I see." And from the disappointment he quickly quelled in his eyes, she wondered had she hurt his feelings. "_Guten Abend _then," he added, and bent gallantly over her hand.

"_Guten Abend_," she echoed and started for home. As she walked, she again wondered if she had hurt the sweet old man by refusing his offer. She reached the corner where she would turn, and there she paused and glanced back.

He was still standing there in front of the dressmaker's window, head to one side, frowning a bit, looking pensive. Realizing she had turned to look at him, he lit up and raised a hand in a jaunty wave. She waved in return, her own face lighting up as well. And then she lost sight of him as she went round the corner to go home.


	2. The Days of the Teehaus, Part Two

**The Days of the **_**Teehaus,**_** Part Two**

That was how it began. For the first time since Uncle Artie had left town, Denise had a reason to look forward to her half-days. Sometimes she arrived at the _Teehaus _first and waited for Fritzi; other times he was there first and looked up at the sound of the bell that chimed as the door swung open. His smile — how bright and welcoming it was when he saw her coming in! And her own smile, she knew, was the same when she caught sight of him.

It was a lovely two months. Every week they met and talked. One time he told her about his boyhood, about growing up in the countryside, tagging along after his older brother Alexander. "_Ach, mein Bruder! _When we were boys, he was _der Adler, und _I was _der Kolibri_…"

"_Adler_. Does that mean elder? But what is _Kolibri?_"

"_Nein_, my dear. _Adler _is eagle. He was the eagle, _und _I… You have no guess as to what _Kolibri _might mean?"

"No, none. I've never heard the word before."

He chuckled. "It means hummingbird!"

"Oh! Eagle and hummingbird — more birds!"

"_Ja_, true. Adler, you see, was big _und _brave _und _he soared above me. _Und _I, I was small _und _darting. When he taught me fencing…"

A startled look crossed her face. "Truly? Fencing?"

"_Ach ja! _Do not look so surprised, my dear Niecie. Under his tutelage, I became very good. Though not good enough, perhaps, to avoid this." He traced the scar on his cheek.

"I had wondered how you got that."

He shrugged. "From a duel. A youthful foolishness. A crossing of blades to prove which was the better man. _Und _all we proved was that we each could bleed." Again he shrugged. "But that was long ago. Very long ago."

And then, with a chuckle, a reminiscent smile settled over his face. "But getting back to Adler, to Alexander. _Ach_, but I worshiped him! He was seven years my elder _und _in my child's eyes, he was perfect in every way. He taught me fishing _und _shooting _und _riding, as well as the fencing. I followed him everywhere, sometimes to the point of being an arrant annoyance to him, I'm sure. But if he resented my presence, he never showed it."

…

Another time she told Fritzi about Craig. She couldn't remember exactly when she had first met Craig Sparrow. He had been one of her Papa's law clerks, four years her senior. She had been aware of him, but at the time he began to work for her father, Craig had been a young adult already while she had still been a child, and so they had had nothing in common.

And then had come the War. Denise had been not quite fourteen when it started. One night about a month after the surrender of Fort Sumter, her Papa had come home and reported that two of his law clerks, Craig Sparrow and Joseph Cassiday, had resigned to join a regiment of Illinois volunteers.

She paused. "You know, much later, after we were married, Craig told me something about those early days of the War — that so many of the eager young men were afraid the War would be over before they ever got their chance to fight. He said, 'We were all of us thinking of the banners and the bugles, when we ought to have been thinking of the bullets and the blood.' "

"He was, I think, a poet, your young man," Fritzi commented.

"Oh, he could turn a phrase!" she said proudly. Then with a sigh, she added, "Joseph never came home; he fell at Chickamauga. But Craig returned home as a Lieutenant when the War was over. In fact, during the War an aunt of his had passed away, leaving him some property with a house on it a few miles from my parents' home. So when he returned to Chicago, he had a place of his own. He just needed work, so he went to see Papa at the law office, hoping to clerk for him again."

She smiled. "Papa told me later what happened that day. He'd agreed to hire Craig again and they were standing in the lobby still talking, when a young woman came down the hall, through the lobby, and out the door. Craig turned to glance at her, and was riveted. He broke off talking in the middle of a word to follow her with his eyes. Then he stood gaping at the door for a few moments after she'd left, gave a low whistle, and said, 'Who was that ravishing creature?'

"Papa answered his question with, 'Denise of course.' He paused a moment, then added, 'You know — my daughter.' "

"_Ach_, found you stunning, did he?" Fritzi commented, a twinkle in his eye. "I know the feeling."

It took Denise a moment to catch his meaning. Shooting him a stern glance for the pun he'd made, she went on with: "Craig swung about and stared at him. 'That? That was Denise? When did she grow up?'

"To which Papa replied, 'While you were gone.'

"After that, Papa began inviting Craig home for dinner with us, sometimes three or four times a week. Mother was distinctly unimpressed. She had always hoped to make me a brilliant match — by which she meant she wanted to find me a rich husband — and Craig was merely a lowly clerk, even if he did own a house.

"Mother wasn't impressed — but I certainly was." Her eyes had gone all dreamy, looking off into the past. "He was everything I wanted in a man. It wasn't just his looks, although…" She laughed and blushed fetchingly. "…he certainly was good-looking! A big man, like, well, like my Uncle Artie. Broad shoulders. About an acre of chest. Big wide smile. Sparkling eyes. Headful of curls — blond curls. Well…" She unpinned the locket watch from the bodice of her dress and passed it to him.

He accepted the locket and opened it, then glanced up at her. "You wear his picture still, hmm?"

She nodded.

He studied the small portrait. Passing it back again, Fritzi said, "He was a fine young man indeed."

She smiled at the portrait, and said, "Yes. Yes, he was." Then she pinned the watch back in its place and continued with, "My Craig — he could fill the whole house with his personality when he wanted to. And he had such a wonderful voice! Like a violin in the hands of a virtuoso. And…" She paused, put her head to one side, then added, "Hmm. It just occurred to me. I suppose Craig was more like Uncle Artie that I ever realized."

"Ah?"

"Yes, you see, back when I was a little girl, Uncle Artie was still an actor. And Craig, once he became a lawyer — and it didn't take him long to progress from clerk to full lawyer — in a way for Craig, the courtroom was his stage. The same way Uncle Artie could hold an audience in the palm of his hand, Craig could hold the jury. He could move them to compassion, or to ire. He also had this useful knack for seeing through lies…"

She fell silent then, her fingers twisting together on the table. Fritzi poured her some more tea and passed her the cup. "Niecie?" he prompted.

She sighed deeply. "We were married one and a half years exactly. Craig told Papa he wanted to leave work a bit early that day so that he could stop at the jeweler's to pick up the small half-anniversary present he'd had made for me." Her fingers found and clutched the locket watch as she fell silent for a few moments. At length she went on with, "There was… there was a runaway wagon, you see. I suppose Craig didn't hear it. He stepped out into the street…"

She looked down at her hand, at her ring finger which showed from its lack of either indentation or tan line that she had worn no ring there for a long time. She raised her eyes again to meet Fritzi's; the dear old fellow was watching her quietly with commiseration in his face. Softly she said, "It was a silly sentimental gesture, I know. But I took my ring off and handed it to the undertaker and asked him to put it in the coffin for me, since it was a closed casket. Otherwise I would have simply slipped it into Craig's pocket myself before they…" Tears were beginning to slide down her cheeks. "…before they buried him." She pulled the handkerchief out of the cuff of her sleeve and hid her face in the lacy cloth.

Fritzi moved his chair nearer so that he could pat her shoulder, murmuring softly to her in German. The actual words meant nothing to her, but the sense was plain enough. Gently he pulled her closer until she was crying on his shoulder.

…

Yet another time he told her a similar tale. He had been a soldier in the army when word came that his father had died. He was given leave to attend the funeral. "I had barely returned from that when…" He shook his head. "I have never understood it. _Mein Bruder _was one of the finest horsemen I knew. And yet, only a month after we buried _Vater_, Alexander went out for a ride one day, from which only his horse came back."

"Oh no! But… didn't they find…?"

He nodded darkly. "They found him, _ja_. How he came to fall from the horse, _wer weiss? _— who knows? But… _der Adler _was gone. My world was gone."

Meditatively he sipped some tea. "A year later, almost to the day…" And now a slow smile lit his face. "…I met her. Karla." He fell silent for a moment, gazing off into the past. "_Ach_, Karla! Shining black hair. Mischievous brown eyes. _Und ach! _how she loved me!" He grinned. "Just to delight her, I set myself the task of learning several passages from _das Hohe Lied_…" At the blank look Denise gave him, he explained, "That is the Song of Solomon, you see. I learned such poetry to recite it to her, to see her blush with pleasure." With a grin he added, "_Und _it worked too!"

He sighed in remembrance. "One of the four happiest days of my life was the day she agreed to marry me. The second of those was the day of our marriage. The next… that was the day, not two months after our wedding, when she came to me _und _whispered the wonderful secret that we were to be parents. _Ach_, she was so beautiful as a mother-to-be…" He smiled mistily. "_Und _the last of those four happiest days — that was the day our _Sohn _was born." Glancing at Denise, he added, "You can guess, I am sure, what name we gave him."

"Alexander?"

"Alexander Karl, _ja_. Karl from Karla. I was husband _und _Poppa now; I had a world once more." He paused to pour himself some more tea, then sat for nearly a minute, saying nothing, before taking a sip and adding, "_Und _all that changed before our _Sohn _was five months old. _Die Grippe _— you would call it influenza — swept through our region. All three of us fell ill of it." He stared into the distance for a long moment before finishing in a barely audible voice, "_Und _only I recovered." He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

Denise laid her hand over his. "Oh, Fritzi!"

He glanced up at her, sighed, and with a shrug said, "My world was gone once more." He drank off more of his tea and set down his cup. "They were buried together in the same coffin, alongside _Vater und Adler_. _Und _I… eventually I came here to America. But _mein Herz_…"

He was silent again for a long time before a smile spread across his face. "I could tell you, if you asked me, exactly how old _mein Sohn _would be right now. He would be thir… ah, thirty-three years, four months,_ und_ seventeen days. _Mein _Alexander Karl."

She squeezed his hand; now it was she commiserating. "Fritzi," she asked at length, "What does _mein Herz _mean?

"Hmm? _Entschuldigung _— I beg your pardon. I should have translated. It means 'my heart.' You understand…"

Yes, she understood. Part of her heart would always be in Chicago as well.


	3. The Days of the Teehaus, Part Three

**The Days of the **_**Teehaus,**_** Part Three**

It was not all sad stories that they told. Denise had plenty of tales of the antics of her toddler daughter that caused Fritzi's eyes to crinkle up as he laughed, sometimes to the point of tears rolling down his cheeks. And he had endless anecdotes — some his own, others collected from fellow immigrants — of the bewildering situations that could befall a newcomer to America, especially someone unsure of the language, or customs, or both. His stories often had Denise gasping, now in horror, now in astonishment. And there were still plenty of tales of childhood to be told, both his and hers.

And always the afternoons ended with Fritzi paying for their tea, then offering her his arm and escorting her as far as the dressmaker's window. "Until next week, hmm?" he would ask, smiling. And once she acquiesced to that, he would then offer to walk her home, which she declined each week, albeit more tenderly and reluctantly each time.

And so passed two months. It was at the end of their ninth tea together, right after she had as usual turned down his offer to walk her home, that thunder suddenly crashed and the skies opened up. Instantly Fritzi pressed Denise into the doorway of the dressmaker's shop, out of the downpour.

They stood together for a while watching the rain come down. Denise gave a sigh, deploring her lack of an umbrella. "I suppose I'll just have to wait here until it stops. At least," she added with a glance at Fritzi, "the company is agreeable."

To her wonderment, Fritzi shrugged off his jacket and spread it over her head and shoulders. "There you are, my dear," he said quite happily.

"But Fritzi! What are you going to do?"

He chuckled, eyes dancing. "Get wet, _natürlich!_"

"But Fritzi! This is the second time you've lent me your jacket. And I never returned the first one. I think it must still be on Uncle Artie's train."

"Well then," he said with mock severity, "I shall simply have to come with you this time _und _make sure I get this jacket back, hmm?"

"Oh, but…"

"_Nein_. No 'oh buts.' Now…" He stuck a hand out into the open air. "…it is no longer raining so very hard. So we will go to the next doorway there, hmm?" He pointed. And though she protested, shortly they were side by side in that next doorway while Fritzi picked out the subsequent spot for them to shelter in.

And so on they went, doorway to awning, awning to doorway to stoop, till at last they were hurrying up the stairs of the townhouse to huddle together, laughing and gasping, under the miniscule porch roof at the doorway of the Morgans'.

Denise removed his jacket from over her head, shook the rain off as best she could, and handed it back to him with thanks, adding, "Do come in and dry off by the fire in the parlor."

"Tempting," he responded, donning the damp jacket. "But I will only be coming back out into the rain again. So I shall take my leave now, dear Niecie." He smiled down at her, and she up at him.

And she thought, How is it that I am looking up at Fritzi? Always before, our eyes were on the same level together; how did he get taller? And as she continued to look up at him, trying to puzzle out his increase in height, he smiled down on her, on sweet Niecie.

Leaning near, he kissed her forehead.

She started, caught by surprise. "Fritzi, what…?"

Still smiling, he gently kissed her cheek.

"Oh!" said she.

He kissed her other cheek.

"Then you…"

He kissed the tip of her nose.

"…remember!" she finished happily.

"Your story of your Uncle Artie giving you your kisses when you were a child? _Ja_, I remember. I remember as you were telling me the tale thinking that if only I too were your uncle, I could kiss you so. But, Niecie, I do not wish to be your uncle. For if I were, I should not be able to do this." And slipping his hands round her waist, he drew her close and pressed his lips gently to hers.

Kissing her. Fritzi was kissing her.

Denise melted in his arms. His arms, strong and sure, enfolded her, gathering her closer as he kissed her more sweetly, more deeply. Fritzi…

Fritzi!

Her hands came up and pushed against his chest, breaking his embrace. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Kissing you." Eyes sparkling, he drew her close and kissed her again.

Her hands were still on his chest; she should push him away again. But her hands were not on his chest anymore. They were slipping up to his shoulders, and over his shoulders, and around to the back of his neck, embracing him.

Fritzi…

At length he ended the kiss. Eyes still closed, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Niecie," he called her name gently. "Why are you crying?"

"I… It's the rain."

"_Nein, Liebchen_. Something rolled down your cheeks and into the kiss. I tasted it, _Schatzi_. Rain is not salty."

"Oh! Oh Fritzi! This… this is wrong!"

"Wrong? What is wrong? I love you _und _you love me. What is wrong with that, hmm?"

"But we can't be in love! It's impossible!"

"Is it? Look at me." She obeyed. "I love you, Niecie," he said again, simply and directly, his smile beatific. "_Und _you love me. _Nicht wahr? _Is it not so?"

"But I can't love you, Fritzi!"

"I did not ask if you _can _love me; I asked if you _do _love me. Do you?"

"I… I…" As she hesitated with her answer, he gently drew her close once more, kissing her forehead solemnly, feeling the way she pressed in against him, burrowing against him.

"That is what I thought. Then we are in love! So what is the problem. Hmm?"

"I…" she whispered. "Oh Fritzi, I'm too young for you. I could even be your granddaughter."

"But you are not," he countered. "Tell me, _mein Schatzi_, the difference in ages, is that your only objection?"

She looked up into his face. Dear Fritzi. Sweet, funny Fritzi. Warm and kind and… and my! the way the man could kiss! Slowly she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that is my only objection. But…"

"Then do not worry," he interrupted. "I will take care of everything. Come to the _Teehaus _next week _und _you will see."

She stared at him. Take care of it? Come to the _Teehaus _next week? "No Fritzi, you don't understand. I can't meet with you at the _Teehaus _again. We must break this off now. Right now! Before…"

"Before what? Before we fall in love? Before someone gets hurt? Do you not see that it is too late for that? We _are _in love. _Und _if we break this off now, we will both be hurt. _Und, Liebchen_," he added, his soul in his eyes, "I will not have you hurt."

"But…"

He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. "Come to the _Teehaus _next week, _mein Schatzi_. That is all I ask of you." He smiled. "_Und _then you will see what I mean, hmm?"

"Fritzi…" She was shaking her head.

"Niecie," he responded. "Decide nothing now. After our tea next week, then you shall decide. _Bitte? _You will come next week?"

"I… I'll think about it."

He nodded and kissed her forehead, which only made her lips long to be kissed again as well. "_Auf Wiedersehen, mein Schatzi_."

"What is _Schatzi?_" she asked.

"It means 'treasure' — or 'sweetie.'" He smiled. "I mean it as both." And now he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss onto her fingers, causing her lips to be envious of them as well.

"___Auf Wiedersehen_," he said once more. He descended the stairs, then turned at the foot of them to give her a shining smile and jaunty wave before strolling away whistling blissfully in the rain.


	4. The Days of the Teehaus, Part Four

**The Days of the **_**Teehaus,**_** Part Four**

Denise spent a miserable week. She knew they must break this off — and was miserable. She did not want to break it off — and was miserable. She daydreamed of how he had kissed her, how it had felt to be held in his arms — and was miserable, knowing she must never feel his touch again.

All week she vacillated. In the morning she would be steadfast in her decision that she would never go to the _Teehaus _again. And by nightfall she had changed her mind a dozen times. She would go there just this once as Fritzi had requested of her. She would hide here in the house instead. She would, she would — oh! what would she do?

She wondered what he could possibly have in mind that would make everything right. She knew there was nothing he could do to make it right. She puzzled again and again over his variable height, and over the strength of his arms as he had enfolded her — that had not felt like the embrace of an old man! Younger, but no, not as young as Craig… Perhaps, oh, Uncle Artie's age then? But how could that be?

And still she dithered. She would never see him again, for both their sakes. She longed to see him again, for this one last time. One last time. And if so, she hoped…

Oh, she hoped he would kiss her, if only to kiss her good-bye.

She woke the morning of her half-day with the firm resolve that she would not set foot out the door all day long. And when the studies were done and her free afternoon loomed before her, she left a distinctly wide-awake Missie in the charge of the three delighted Morgan girls — backed up, of course, by the housekeeper, various maids, and the girls' own mother — as she dashed off at once to the _Teehaus_.

She could see the table in the window as she approached. It was empty. No Fritzi. Her shoulders sagged and she nearly turned away. But her feet took her to the door anyway, and she set the little bell chime a-jangling as she pushed open the door and entered.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the difference in lighting as she came in out of the bright sunshine. Then she looked around. Perhaps he was at another table? No. Fritzi was not here. But here was Berthe the waitress bustling forward with a warm greeting of, "_Guten Tag, Frau Spatz! Herr _Drossel is not here yet, but you will sit _und _I will fetch you your tea. _Ja?_" And she swept off to do just that, leaving Denise seated in the window feeling very conspicuous and very alone.

The bell chimed as the door opened — no Fritzi. Berthe brought the tea — no Fritzi. Denise stared through the window at people passing outside. No Fritzi. She was fighting the impulse to cry.

The bell at the door chimed once more. She glanced up. No Fritzi…

What?

In the doorway stood a man, tall and straight, head held high. He was dressed in a green uniform of some European design. Gold frogs graced the front of his jacket; gold trim gleamed along the side seams of his trousers. He sported a fuzzy black shako, spotless white gloves, and resplendent knee-high black boots. But it was his face that caught Denise's attention. The goatee and moustaches, the straight nose, the dark eyes — Fritzi? He looked so much like him! How… A son? But no, of course not; Fritzi's only child had died as an infant. A nephew then?

His cheek. There on his cheek was a scar just like Fritzi's: the same length, the same angle as it turned at his cheek bone. But how could he have the exact same scar?

All this passed through her mind in the brief time it took for the man to pause to let his eyes get accustomed to the dimmer light inside. Now those eyes were sweeping the room, turning inevitably toward her. Coming to rest on her. Lighting up at the sight of her. He smiled, and the smile was Fritzi's. He came toward her, crossing the room as if all else in it no longer existed for him. He stopped at Denise's side, inclined his head to her, clicked his heels (which made her jump), and said, with Fritzi's twinkle in his eyes, "_Frau Spatz_."

His voice. It was firmer, younger, deeper than Fritzi's, and not so heavily accented. And yet…

She stared at him. "Fritzi?"

He gestured at the second chair, his eyes asking permission. She nodded and he sat, removing his shako to reveal a headful of shiny black curls. Drawing off the gloves as well, he answered, "My name is Matthias Kleiber. Or to put it more precisely, Matthias Konrad _Friedrich _Kleiber."

Noting the emphasis he had placed on his third name, she asked, "Is… is Fritzi a nickname for Friedrich?"

"It is."

"What are you telling me?" said Denise cautiously.

With a level gaze, he replied, "My dear, you know what I am telling you."

"That you're Fritzi? You?" He saw the anger that was beginning to flash in her eyes. "But… why have you done this? Why have you set out to deceive me?"

"I did not set out…"

"For two months you have presented yourself to me as a sweet little old man, cultivating my friendship, cap… captivating me with lies!" she fumed.

"No lies. Apart from the age and the name, everything I told you was the truth."

"I don't believe you."

"Nevertheless, Niecie, I…"

"Don't call me that!" she hissed. "Only Uncle Artie can call me that!"

He fell silent and looked down, toying with his cup of tea. Then softly he said, "My apologies, Mrs Sparrow. You have asked me for an explanation. I am willing to give it, but it is a long one. If you will hear me out?"

Warily, she said, "I'll think about it."

He gave a wan smile. "That is all I ask. Where would you like me to begin?"

"Start with why you've been pretending to be someone you're not."

"That goes back to the very first time we met. I was in disguise at the time as part of my job."

She scoffed.

"Does not your Uncle Artie do the same? I work at my country's Embassy. It is my job to keep everyone who lives and works there safe, as well as others of my countrymen who are here in your United States. And on a particular night not long ago, there were many rumors flying about. A kidnapped child. A dead Secret Service agent. A chemical that could melt marble buildings. You know of which I speak."

"Of course I know," said she. "I was in the middle of it. The kidnapped child was my daughter. The agent who wasn't dead as initially reported was my uncle. And the chemical wasn't real."

"But at the time, it was not known whether the chemical was real or not. If it had been real, it could have destroyed the Embassy building. It was my job to get to the bottom of the rumors. So I did what I usually do. I transformed myself into little old inoffensive Fritzi Drossel, and I snooped. After all, people will say many things to such a man is Fritzi that they would never say to a man dressed as I am now." He spread his arms, indicating his uniform. "And was not your Uncle Artie doing the same thing that night? For I saw him, you see, in the street in front of the building shortly before you were, ah… defenestrated."

Her eyes flickered. "When you ran to save me."

He shrugged. "Yes. Well, I could not stand there and do nothing! Anyone would have done the same. Your uncle was running too. I was only closer, that is all."

She was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Go on."

Now he was silent for a bit. "I, ah… I was impressed with you that night. When your uncle came and checked on you, he asked you questions and you just calmly answered them. No hysteria. No weeping. Just clear answers."

"Well…" she said. "I did have me a good cry later on."

He covered her hand with his own. She looked at the hands for a moment, then withdrew hers and folded both her hands in her lap.

He tapped his fingers on the table, smiled apologetically, then at length went on. "It was not that day that I began to think of you. It was the next day, and the day after that, and the following day, and every day since then. The woman who fell out of a window and into my arms, so to speak." He lowered his head, looking up at her from under his eyebrows, looking at her with Fritzi's eyes. "I began to be very angry with myself for not getting your name. I had only a few clues, among them the names that you and your uncle called each other. _Kosenamen_, they were."

"_Kosenamen?_"

"Pet names. Nicknames. Niecie and Artie. That was all I knew, at first. But I am very good at finding out more from next to nothing. And so I did what I do. I snooped."

"You spied on me?"

"Not spied. Snooped. There is a difference."

"I fail to see it."

He shrugged amiably. "I started with your uncle. In the list of Secret Service agents you spoke of to him by name, a certain name was glaringly absent. You mentioned James West. Why did you not also mention Artemus Gordon? They are like — how do you say it? — like bread and butter; they go together. Of course then I realized that the name 'Artie' is a _Kosename _for Artemus, and I realized whom I had seen that night, doing his own snooping in that street. Your uncle is Artemus Gordon."

"You already said that you knew that."

"But not at first. I realized it later. And I thought, now it is easy; I shall find out who is the niece of Artemus Gordon."

"Except he doesn't have a niece," said she.

"Yes, so I learned! So I went to the next thing. I thought, what else was happening that night? The child! I did more snooping and learned that the name of the kidnapped child — and to my relief, I learned also that she was returned home safely — the name of the child was Artemis Sparrow. What a coincidence, hmm? _Two _people involved in the events of that night sharing such an unusual _Vorname _— forename."

"So you found me through my child," she said. And she did not look happy.

"Yes…" he said slowly. "I did find that the mother of the child was a certain Denise Sparrow and realized that 'Niecie' could well be short for 'Denise.' But I also found out that you were a married woman. And as it is not my habit to pursue the wife of another man, I gave up."

Interesting; the man had scruples at least. "But in fact I'm not…" she began.

He was nodding. "I know that now, yes. But at the time I only knew that the child's parents were Craig and Denise Sparrow. So I let the matter drop." He sat back and spread his hands. "That was it. I was done." He gave a shrug and added, "Except that one of my operatives did not know that I was done and came to me bringing the information that Craig Sparrow had died before his daughter was born. I…" He frowned. "I found that hard. On the one hand, I know what it is to lose the other half of one's self. And on the other…"

"I was free for you to pursue again," she said, her eyes cold and glittering.

"Hmm. Well… Not to put too fine a point on it..."

"But why? Why were you pursuing me? Who was I to you?"

"How can I explain? You enter my life in such dramatic fashion, you pique my interest with your calmness in such strange circumstances, you turn down my offer to see you home — a very bad habit of yours, I might add! — and I, foolish I, turn you over to your uncle and walk away. I have been kicking myself daily every since!"

"Calmness! I wasn't calm, Fritzi, I…"

"Matthias."

"…Matthias. I wasn't calm; I had just nearly died and I had nothing left in me to be afraid with!"

"All right. Perhaps I misread you. Perhaps it was only that you were pretty." He grinned at her, pleased to see her blush in response. "Our lives intersected that night. If I had not been there, would anyone else have gotten to you in time? I wonder that sometimes. I wanted… I wanted to know you, to know what sort of person I had saved."

"You wanted more than that. From your own words, you stopped looking for me once you thought I was married."

"Yes, I know. I had that thought from the start, I admit. And I still have that thought. I love you. I would like to share the rest of our lives together."

She shook her head. "But you lied to me."

"That was not my intention. Listen. Once I knew that much about you and knew where to find you, I wanted to see if in fact Denise Sparrow was the woman I knew as Niecie. But I also wanted… well, I wanted to confirm it by seeing if you would recognize me as well. And the only way you would recognize me was for me to be dressed as Fritzi Drossel. That was why I came to you in disguise. My intent was to speak with you, confirm you were Niecie, and later I would somehow contrive to — how do you say? — bump into you as myself. Only… things did not go quite as I had planned. I met you; you recognized me. But then I made you cry. That I had not intended. And so to cheer you up, I invited you here." He smiled tenderly. "Which turned into a lovely afternoon. I enjoyed your company tremendously. And I think you enjoyed mine?"

"Well… yes…" she admitted.

"I enjoyed being with you, Mrs Sparrow, and so I…"

"Denise."

He paused, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Denise. I wanted to see you again, so I invited you to have tea with me the following week. Except, you see… it was only after you were walking away that I realized: you had not accepted an invitation from Matthias Kleiber, but from Fritzi Drossel. That was why I continued to visit you in disguise. Every week only made it harder for me to extricate myself from my mistake. And I could think of no way to explain what had happened without you getting angry with me — as, of course, actually happened. And in the meantime, I was falling in love with you. Until at last…" He sighed heavily. "Last week I could bear it no more. When we were standing together on your front stoop, I stopped pretending to be anyone but myself. It was only that I did not remove the wig and make-up. When I took you in my arms and kissed you — that was Matthias. Not Fritzi."

"That's why you were suddenly taller and stronger!"

"But still a fool. I should have admitted the truth to you long before. I am so sorry. Will you forgive me?"

She considered. "I'll think about it," she said.

He nodded. "And tea? Will you come next week to have tea with me? That is to say, with Matthias rather than Fritzi?"

A long pause. "I'll think about it," she repeated.

Again he nodded. "Thank you. That is all I ask. Except, ah… may I see you home?" There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, and the twinkle did not diminish when she shook her head No. With a nod, he got up, paid for the tea, took up his shako and gloves, bowed to her with a click of his heels once more, then said, "_Auf Wiedersehen_, my dear. Until next week." And he left.


	5. The Days of the Teehaus, Part Five

**The Days of the **_**Teehaus,**_** Part Five**

The following week it was Matthias Kleiber who arrived promptly for their tea, only to find no Denise. He was not attired splendidly this time; in truth, he wore his Fritzi clothes, albeit without make-up or wig. This puzzled Berthe the waitress, but she seated him at the usual table in the window anyway. Matthias gazed out the window as he waited, and waited.

At length he sighed and poured his tea, pondering whether to prepare Denise some as well and risk it sitting there until it was cold. Occasionally the bell chime rang as someone entered or left, and he looked up hopefully. No Denise. After waiting well over half an hour, he gave yet another sigh and stared down into his tea cup. Was there a point, he wondered, in tarrying any longer? He had lost her once, and now — now he had lost her again.

Well, he decided, he might as well finish the tea.

A flash of color caught his eye. A woman in a yellow blouse carrying a basket filled with roses was weaving her way through the tables, pausing at each one. He heard her voice: "Buy me flowers, mister?" It was a garish voice with an impossible accent. Where had she come from?

And now she was at his table. Setting the basket down, she asked the same question. He shook his head without even looking up.

"Eh, c'mon, mister. Buy a rose fer yer lady, woncha?" she persisted.

He did not want to have this conversation! Still not looking at her, he waved her away with, "It seems at the moment I do not have a lady, my good woman. So if you would kindly move on now, please."

Her voice softened. "Wadja do, mister — go an' make 'er mad? Buy 'er a rose t' go wit' yer apology then. Eh?"

Hmm. Perhaps she was right. He gave a shrug. "Well, you are a woman and know your own kind, hmm? But if I were to buy her a rose…" He gestured at the empty chair opposite. "…she is not here for me to give it to her."

"Ain't she?"

There was something in the way she said this last that caught Matthias' attention. He turned to her, and as he did, he noticed for the first time that in addition to the bright yellow blouse she was wearing a rust-colored skirt. His eyes widened. The clothes Niecie had been wearing when he had raced to break her fall! He looked up, then stared in amazement. She looked older, a bit of make-up at the corners of her eyes and in the laugh lines on either side of her mouth deepening the shadows there.

"Denise?"

She gave him an uncomprehending look. "Denise? Whozzat? Me name's Siobhan Murray, Oi'll have y' know!"

"_Schwan? _As in the bird?"

"ShuhVAHN," she corrected him. "'Tis Oirish fer Joan."

He snorted. "If you are Irish, then I am an Indian chief."

"How, Big Chief," she responded. Then very softly she added, her voice her own again, "_Guten Tag_, Fritzi."

She was smiling at him. He got to his feet and came and held the other chair for her. "What are you up to?" he asked. She slid into the seat smoothly and waited for him to return to his own before replying, "Well, I did as I said I would. I gave everything a lot of thought. And it occurred to me that you weren't the only one in disguise that night — or really, that morning, the day you saved my life. Uncle Artie had disguised himself as an Irishman named Mike Murray and I…" She gestured at her own clothes. "…was his sister Siobhan. And we weren't up to anything evil or underhanded. We were only trying to fool the bad guys in order to rescue my little girl and Uncle Artie's partner. Besides," she added, "the first time Uncle Artie used the Mike Murray disguise, he had me fooled for hours before he ever let me in on the secret of who he was. And he didn't mean to hurt me; he was just teasing me. And, well… I don't believe you meant to hurt me either."

"I would never hurt you," said he.

She blushed slightly and dropped her eyes. "You, ah, do realize something though…"

"Hmm?"

She gave a small laugh. "It's just that you managed to beat Uncle Artie's record for fooling me by two whole months!"

He laughed as well. "That is an accomplishment indeed!"

She nodded. "And so… I understand. I understand what you were doing that morning when we were all three in disguise. And I understand that you were right in thinking that I would not have recognized you when you sought me out if you had not looked like Fritzi. And I suppose I understand about your dilemma of accidentally inviting me to tea as Fritzi instead of as yourself — although I do think you should have trusted me with the truth much sooner. But at any rate, what it all comes down to is this: I believe you now. About everything."

"Mmm," he said. "Then as a certain wise woman of my acquaintance suggested I do…" And taking one of the roses from the basket, he offered it to her, saying, "I am so sorry, Denise. Will you forgive me?"

With a gracious smile she accepted the flower. "Yes, Matthias. Dear Matthias. I do forgive you. However," she added, "you _will _have to pay for that rose, you know."

He was stunned. "I will? But what do you want for it?"

Smiling sweetly, she said, "Oh, I was thinking one afternoon of tea and conversation would be about right."

"Ah! And the other roses? We have here, I think, enough roses for, oh, three or four months' worth of weekly teas."

"Mmm. That sounds good to me."

Smiling joyfully, he poured her some tea and passed it to her. "Here is your tea then, my dear. And now — about what shall we converse?"

"I want to know everything about you, Matthias. Now that I know you are Matthias."

"Everything?" With a teasing glance, he said, "That may take some time."

She waved at the roses. "We have plenty of afternoon teas ahead of us."

He chuckled. Reaching out to her across the table, he wordlessly looked the request to her to be permitted to hold her hand, and she acquiesced by slipping her fingers into his. Squeezing them gently, he began with, "As I mentioned before, _Liebchen_, essentially everything I told you of my childhood was the truth. Except of course that I left out certain things. Such as the name of my father being Konrad Kleiber, and the fact that we lived in Bavaria, nowhere near Düsseldorf. Ah, and I might point out that the name Kleiber means 'nuthatch.' "

"Another bird!" she exclaimed.

"Yes indeed," he smiled.

"Well," she said, "go on."

"Well, as I told you before, Father and Adler died in rapid succession and, being an officer in the army, I was able to resign my commission to return home to see about my aged mother. And after that, as you know, Karla came into my life. And then came our son, whose full name was Matthias Alexander Karl Kleiber, and who would be thirteen now, not thirty-three. Do you know, I nearly said the real number when I was telling you of him, and had to quickly add twenty years!"

He halted there. "Well. Anything more you wish to know?"

"Why did you come to America? I thought Fritzi immigrated because…oh dear! Perhaps I shouldn't have brought that up."

"Because his wife and child had died? Yes, it was more or less that way. I soon found I could no longer abide living at home, and Mother assured me she would be fine, so I returned to the army. And there I went back to doing what I do best — snooping. Eventually this brought me to the attention of the Emperor, who sent me here to America to work at the Embassy."

"And your work there is snooping," said she.

With a smile he said, "Everyone is good at something. For me, that thing is…" He gave a modest shrug.

"…snooping," she finished for him.

"Yes. Does that bother you?"

"It did," she admitted. "But then it occurred to me that essentially that's the same sort of thing Uncle Artie does. And I adore him."

He squeezed her hand again. "And me? How do you feel about me, Denise?"

"I…" she said slowly, "I believe…"

"Yes?"

"…that I would like you to start calling me 'Niecie' again."

Eyes dancing, he asked, "And does mean I am back in your good graces again, Niecie? _Mein Schatzi?_"

She laughed and dropped her eyes, then nodded.

"_Wunderbar_," he breathed. "And you — I should like you to call me by the _Kosename _of my childhood as well."

"Kolibri?"

"Well, that was Adler's name for me, yes. But I was thinking of what my parents called me, which was 'Matty.' "

"Matty." She smiled. "I think I would like that. Dear Matty."

He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes watching hers as he pressed a sweetly affectionate kiss onto her fingers. "_Ich liebe dich, meine _Niecie," he said.

"I suppose that means what I think it means?"

"If you think it means 'I love you,'" he replied, "yes."

"Mmm. That is what I thought. Then _ich liebe dich_, Matty… or," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "_ich liebe dich_, Fritzi."

He chuckled. "And I love you too… Schwan."

She laughed delightedly. "Fritzi and Siobhan! I like that." She smiled into his eyes and he into hers, and so the afternoon passed as they held hands and drank tea and chattered on and on about whatever came to mind.

_Und hatten eine wunderbare Zeit _— and had a wonderful time.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	6. The Day of the Dinner Invitation

**The Day of the Dinner Invitation**

Major Matthias Konrad Friedrich Kleiber mounted the stairs of the townhouse to ring the bell for the first time ever. Always before, he and Denise Sparrow had parted after their afternoon teas before arriving here at her residence — except for once, and that once he had not rung the bell. But then, today they had not had tea together. Indeed, Niecie was not expecting him, but he had come anyway. Today he had a surprise for her.

He rang the bell and waited, smiling to himself as he anticipated Niecie's reaction to his surprise. It was not so much of a surprise in truth, merely an invitation to go out to dinner with him, but this would be a first for them, and he looked forward to seeing her face when he asked her out.

As he stood on the porch of the townhouse and waited for someone to answer the bell, he straightened the green jacket of his uniform, adjusted the shako on his head, and ran his thumb and forefinger quickly over his moustache, assuring himself that he was perfectly presentable.

Minutes passed. He was beginning to wonder whether he should ring a second time when he at last heard rapid footsteps approaching. He drew himself up tall and straight as the door was opened reveal a formidable scowling woman with a face like iron.

He made a soldierly bow with his usual Germanic heel-click (the iron-faced woman, to his amusement, started strongly at the sound) and presented his calling card, saying, "Major Matthias Kleiber, to see…"

"The Morgans aren't in," the woman interrupted, ignoring the card and beginning to close the door.

"…to see Mrs Denise Sparrow," he concluded. "She is available, I hope?"

The woman drew back and looked him over suspiciously. "What do you want with her?" she asked.

His eyebrows arched. "Are you her secretary?" he responded.

"I'm the housekeeper here," said the woman.

Deliberately thickening his accent, he replied, "Zen I belief ze nature of _mein _business _mit Frau _Shparrow is best discussed between _Frau _Shparrow _und _myself." Again proffering the card, he assumed the sort of cold and haughty air he had often seen minor nobility back in the Old Country take with servants and said, "Announce me."

Eying him even more narrowly, she grudgingly accepted the card, studied it shrewdly, then opened the door only just enough to admit him, saying, "You may wait in the parlor."

"_Danke schön, meine gute Frau_," he said, accenting the remark with another heel-click, secretly delighted at how much it caused her to jump once again. She led him through the entrance hall and into an opulent Victorian room. Leaving him there, she paused in the doorway, looked him over with a gimlet eye, made a "Hmph!" of disapproval, and closed the door firmly.

Instantly dropping the high-and-mighty demeanor, the major stroked his goatee and thought, What a Valkyrie that woman would make!

He wandered about the parlor as he waited. The shako he took off and laid on a table, then examined a pair of crossed sabers on the wall — decorative ones merely, worthless as actual weapons. He pulled a book off the shelves, leafed through it, and returned it to its place. He was considering some ceramic figurines in a glass-enclosed display case when he heard the door open behind him. He turned.

There she was, Denise Sparrow. She was wearing, as was her custom, a plain brown dress with a small locket watch pinned to her bodice. Her rich ebony hair was coiled into a simple bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes he admired so much, were at the moment wide in astonishment. "Matty! Why, what are you doing here?"

"Denise," he said warmly. Crossing the room to her in three long strides, he bent over her hand with a click of his heels, and was rewarded with the sound of "Hmph!" from the other side of the door. Ah, he thought, if someone desires to eavesdrop, let her hear an earful!

Tenderly he kissed Denise's hand, then straightened and smiled down on her. Once again thickening his accent for the benefit of the nosy housekeeper, he said, "_Ach_, Niecie _mein Schatzi_, it is zo good to zee you again. I hope it is not indecorous of me to come to visit you here?"

She paused before saying, "Well, no. No, of course not. The Morgans aren't in at the moment, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"_Exzellent!_" he proclaimed. "Zen ve vill haf ze chance to, ah…" and he leaned close to whisper into her ear, "give the housekeeper a fit of conniption, hmm? Giggle, if you would, please?"

She gave a soft laugh. "What are you up to?" she whispered back.

"Teaching a lesson to someone who listens at doors."

She glanced at the parlor door. "Oh…" With a wink to Matty, she strode to the door and whisked it open, causing the housekeeper to nearly fall bodily into the room.

"Why, Mrs Beecham!" Denise said with concern. "Are you quite all right? You're not having an attack of some sort, are you?"

Recovering her balance, the housekeeper straightened up and said, "No no, Mrs Sparrow. Just, ah, polishing the doorknob."

"With your skirt, Mrs Beecham? You haven't a rag in your hand."

"I, ah, must have dropped it."

"Well, Major Kleiber will be staying to tea. Would you be so good as to inform Cook? And he and I will take tea here in the parlor."

"Yes, Mrs Sparrow."

"Thank you, Mrs Beecham." Denise waited for the housekeeper to head toward the kitchen, then closed the door and turned back to find that Matty was close behind her.

"How long will she be gone?" he asked.

"Probably not long. Why?"

Now he winked. "Some things are not to be eavesdropped on, hmm?" And slipping his hands around her waist, he drew her close and kissed her.

"Mmm… I love the way you kiss me," she sighed happily. "But then, I love you, Matty."

"_Ich liebe dich auch, Liebchen_," he returned, kissing her again. He then led her to the sofa where they sat down side by side, holding hands. "I had in mind to, ah…"

"To, ah…?"

He nodded toward the door and whispered, "She is back, I think." With a sparkle in his eye, he said, "_Ach ja, mein Schatzi_, I haf in mind zat I vould like to take you home to meet _meine Mutter_."

"Your, your mother?"

"_Ja_," he continued in the unusually strong accent he'd adopted for Mrs Beecham's benefit. "_Meine Mutter_, she is back home in ze Old Country, _natürlich_, zo this vill not happen very zoon. But I vould bring you before her _und _zay to her, '_Mutter_, zis is she. She is ze one. Ze one I desire to marry, _und mit _whom I intend to give you, _meine Mutter, ein Dutzend Enkelkinder _— a dozen grandchildren." And he grinned in delight at the shocked look on Denise's face.

"A… a dozen? Are you serious?"

"_Ach_, perhaps not zo many as a dozen. But as many as possible. I haf long loved ze idea of becoming Poppa to a houseful of _Kinder_." Noting the little gleam now coming up in Denise's eye, he said, "_Was ist los?_"

She began to chuckle. "A dozen. Really. When I had always thought the perfect number of children to have would be…" and after a nice little dramatic pause, she finished with "…fourteen."

He gaped. "Fourt…!" And catching her into a hug, he whispered to her, "Do you mean that? Or are you saying it for Mrs Beecham to hear?"

She nodded. "Yes, I mean that, Matty. You meant it too, didn't you?"

He grinned and said loudly, "_Natürlich!_ Zo you are a woman _nach meinem Herzen! _After _mein _own heart, that is."

"And a man after mine," she responded beaming.

"Mmm. Ze more I know of you, _Liebchen_, ze more perfect for me I zee zat you are, _ja?_" He caressed her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers, then tenderly he kissed her once more.

And now, touching a finger to his lips for silence, he rose and softly crossed the room to the door, then snatched it open. And once again the housekeeper nearly sprawled into the parlor. "You haf lost zomezing, _meine gute Frau?_" he asked.

"The, ah, the tea will be ready for you momentarily," she said, striving to recover her dignity.

"_Sehr gut_. Ve vill be vaiting. _Danke schön_." He made again the heel-click that he knew she found so disturbing, then closed the door and returned to the sofa. "Now… Where were we?"

"Right about here," Denise replied as she slid into his arms anew. He kissed her yet again, and her eyes sparkled up at him as that kiss slowly ended. Laying her fingertips softly on his lips, she recited, "'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.'"

This brought forth a bubbling laugh from him. "So! I am not the only one who can quote from Song of Solomon, hmm?"

With an arch of her eyebrows, she replied, "Oh, but you're so inspirational, my beloved."

He drew her close yet again, and they got lost in each others' kiss.

Suddenly the parlor door sprang open loudly and the couple, startled, sprang apart. Both turned to stare at the small figure framed in the doorway, huge brown eyes under a cap of golden curls, with the middlemost fingers of her left hand solidly jammed into her mouth.

"Missie!" Denise reproved, moving a little farther away from the major. "How often must I remind you not to slam doors open in that fashion? If you keep that up, you'll knock something off a shelf and break it, and then won't Mrs Morgan be angry!"

There was a damp pop as the child's fingers vacated her mouth. "I wakeded up an' couldn' fin' you, Mamma," the little one complained.

"Well, I'm right here, Sweetheart. You found me now. Come on in, Honey. There's someone here who would like to meet you."

The child shuffled in, her hand moving up toward her mouth again. Then she stopped and stood still, staring at the big man sitting by her mother's side on the sofa. The huge brown eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open.

With a sudden glad squeal of "Unca Oddie!" the little girl pelted across the parlor and in a trice she was on the major's lap, her sweet little chubby arms hugging him fiercely.

Startled, the major shot a bemused glance over the child's head to her mother. "No, no," Denise was saying, "this isn't Uncle Artie. Take another look, Missie. He isn't your Uncle Artie."

"Yeah, he Unca Oddie," the child proclaimed confidently. "See? He wea'in' a 'sguise. A funny bea'd, an' dat sca' dere. An' he gonna do a funny voice too. Wight, Unca Oddie?"

"I am very sorry, _meine Kleine_, but in fact I am not your Uncle Artie," said the major gently.

The child clapped her hands in glee. "See? Dat a good voice, Unca Oddie! Wha' da funny words mean, huh?"

"'My little one.' But look at me." She tilted her head at him. "Look closely, _Liebchen_. The beard is my own; it grew here. Tug on it and see."

She gave it a tug, then a harder one. Frowning, she put her face very close to his, inspecting beard and moustache and the scar across his cheek as well. Her eyes went hugely round. Scowling, she folded her little arms and demanded, pouting, "Hey, you ain't Unca Oddie! Who a' you? An' how come you kissin' my Mamma anyway?"

"Missie! Don't be rude!"

The major laughed. "No, it is fine, Niecie. She is wise to desire the truth." And to the child on his knee, he said, "My name, _meine Kleine_, is Major Matthias… Konrad… Friedrich… Kleiber."

The little girl's eyes had grown bigger and bigger with each separate addition to his name. "How come you got dat big long name?" she asked.

"My parents wished to honor a great many relatives. And you would be Artemis Sparrow, would you not?"

The child said something that sounded like "Oddamess Cwaig Pawwow." Puzzled, the major glanced at the child's mother.

"She said, 'Artemis Craig Sparrow,'" Denise interpreted helpfully.

"Ah! So she was correcting me for leaving out her middle name, hmm?"

"Apparently so, yes."

Turning again to the child, the major bowed his head politely to her and said, "How do you do, _Fräulein _Artemis?"

"Oh, I hung'y," she replied honestly.

"No, Honey," said her mother, "you're supposed to respond with…"

"But Mamma, he as'ded, so I tol' 'im!"

The major started laughing so hard, he had to put his arms round the little girl lest she fall off his lap. "Oh, _meine Spätzle! _What a delight you are!"

"Mynah shpetslah?" the child echoed. "Whazza? Some kinda bird?"

His face crinkling in amusement, he said, "In a way, my dear, it is. But not what you are thinking. '_Meine_' means 'my.' And _Spätzle _is a type of noodle we eat in my own country. In fact, since you are so sweet, you must be _Apfelspätzle _— apple noodles."

"Dat ain't no bird," the child complained.

"Ah, but you see, _Spätzle _is not only a type of noodle; the word also means," and he winked at her, "'Little sparrow.'"

"Little Sparrow!" cried Denise. "But that's perfect!"

"Indeed!" said the major. "But why are you pouting still, _meine Spätzle?_"

"Unca Oddie call me Peanut an' say he gonna eat me up. An' Mamma call me Honey. An' now you callin' me food too. An' dat makin' my tummy all hung'y!" She looked so forlorn, the major gave her a big hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Let us remedy that, _Spätzle_. I had in mind when I came here today to invite your mother to come dine with me. Would you like to come too?"

With a squeak of delight the child cried, "Oh Mamma! Can I?"

" 'May I?' " Denise corrected.

"May I?"

Denise nodded. "I suppose so." And as Missie clapped her little hands, Denise said to the major, "Of course you realize inviting Missie as well has made it impossible for me to turn down your dinner invitation."

"Of course. But did you wish to turn down my invitation?"

She laughed. "No."

He grinned. "So I thought."

Denise stood and held out her hand to her daughter. "Come along then, Missie. We need to get ready to go." And to the major she added, "May I ask where you're taking us? To the _Teehaus?_"

Coming to his feet as well, he replied, "No, my dear. I was thinking of somewhere else, and as it happens, it is a place where it might be possible for Missie to taste some _Apfelspätzle_."

"Oh! A German restaurant."

"Even better: the Embassy. I have seen where you live…" He gestured at the house in which they now were. "…and now you may come see where I live and work. If you would like that?"

"Oh! Why, yes, I believe I'd like that very much," said Denise. "We'll try not to be very long, Matty dear." And she herded Missie toward the door.

"I shall count the minutes, my Niecie," he replied gallantly with a bow and a click of his heels.

And as the pair crossed the entrance hall to the stairway, he heard the child gabbling excitedly, "Whazza soun', Mamma? Did he make dat soun'? Dat a funny soun'!"

"Yes, Honey, the major made that sound."

And as the two went up the stairs, the child's voice continued. "But you di'n' call 'im da mayja, Mamma. You call 'im Moddie. Can I call 'im Moddie too? Oo! _Unca _Moddie! Dat way I gotta Unca Oddie an' a Unca Moddie too! Dat fun, innit?"

Denise's voice floated down, saying, "Well, Sweetheart, you will have to ask him for his permission…"

The major stood in the parlor doorway, arms folded, very pleased with his life today. Not only did the delightful Denise Sparrow plainly love him very much, but now her little daughter wished to call him Uncle Matty. "_Wunderbar_," he grinned to himself.

He was still standing there with that self-satisfied smile on his lips when a door opened and the iron-faced woman appeared in the entrance hall carrying a tray of tea items. Recalling the woman's name, the major made a bow and a heel-click, saying, "_Guten Tag, Frau _Beecham."

And as usual, she jumped. She then glowered at him and growled, "And why are you standing there smiling like the cat that ate the canary?"

Eyes twinkling, he responded, "No cats today, _Frau _Beecham, _und _no canaries eizer. Ze only birds are a pair of Shparrows _und ein Kleiber _— _und _one nuthatch."

She frowned, trying to fathom what he was talking about.

"_Ach, und _I must apologize," he added, nodding at the tray she was carrying, "but ve vill not be shtaying for tea after all, _meine gute Frau_. A certain pair of ravishing _junge Damen _are going to accompany me to…"

Just then there was a clattering overhead as little Missie, dressed in a fresh lavender frock, came charging down the stairway. She ran straight to the major, calling out, "Unca Moddie!" and jumped into his arms.

A bit startled, he managed to catch her nonetheless and swung her up, settling her on his hip. "Mamma say she be wigh' down, Unca Moddie. I can call you dat, can' I?"

Looking her directly in the eye, he told her, "_Nein_." He waited a beat, then added, "However you may call me _Uncle Matty _if you vish, _meine Spätzle_."

She stuck her lower lip out. "You teasin' me!"

"_Ja. Und _I can put my lip out farzer zan you as vell." He demonstrated.

"Hmph!" That was Mrs Beecham, who was still standing there with the tray in her hands.

Putting her mouth close to the major's ear, Missie confided in a singularly loud whisper, "Dat Miz Beecham. Unca Oddie call her da Dwagon Lady. He say she'd give even Pwesident Gwant the ol' bum wush if he got no business in dis house." Tilting her head to one side, the little sweetie asked, "Unca Moddie, whazza ol' bum wush?"

Noting the narrow-eyed scowl on the woman's face, the major said, "Ze 'old bum's rush' is vat she might give to us if ve do not keep our voices down, hmm?"

"Weally?" said Missie, her eyes lighting up. And the child promptly began to sing at the top of her lungs.

Mrs Beecham's foot was started to tap angrily.

"_Ach_, I haf forgotten zomezing in ze parlor, _Spätzle_," said the major. Carrying the child, he made a strategic retreat, crossing to the table on which he had left the shako.

"Whazza?" asked Missie, snatching it up.

"It is my shako."

"A wha'?"

"A hat."

"Weally?" She plopped it onto her own head; it came down well over her nose and she tilted her head back, trying to peer out.

"May I have it, _Spätzle?_"

She took it off and deposited it rather crookedly onto her brand new Uncle Matty's head. He reached up and adjusted it with his free hand. "What do you think, _mein Liebchen?_" he asked.

She regarded it dubiously. "Look like somefin' dead on y' head."

"_Danke schön_," he said dryly.

"Whazza mean?"

"Thank you very much."

"You we'come!"

He snorted. "As are you, _meine Kleine_."

He carried the child back out to the entrance hall, glanced at Mrs Beecham, and was trying to think of something pleasant to say to her when there came a light step on the staircase above. The major looked up.

Denise. Smiling — no, glowing. She was in a lovely burgundy dress with a sweetheart décolletage, a matching lace shawl draped about her shoulders. Her hair was done up afresh into a long braid pinned into a crown around her head. She wore no jewelry save the locket watch, and no make-up either; she didn't need it. She blushed prettily at the frank approval in the major's regard. "Niecie," he breathed.

"Matty," she responded.

He offered the arm that wasn't already carrying her daughter and she took it. She then turned to the housekeeper and said, "Good day, Mrs Beecham."

"When shall I expect you home?" the woman said severely.

"Niecie, _mein Schatzi_," put in the major, "have you your latch-key?"

She checked her handbag. "Yes, here it is."

"_Wunderbar_. Zat being the case, _Frau _Beecham," and he shot the woman a conspiratorial wink, "don't vait up."

And as the Dragon Lady stared after them, her jaw hanging slack, the major steered Denise out the door and down the steps, then hailed a cab to take him and his two lovely young ladies out for a delightful dinner together.

This, thought Major Kleiber, better known to Denise's uncle Artie and his partner James West as _Herr _Vogel the Rumormeister, was working out even better than he had planned. And wouldn't Baron Hinterstoisser be pleased!

**DAS ENDE**


End file.
